


Born of Riverrun, Born of Winterfell

by sansakatara



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, Arya and Bran are twins, Character Study, Different birth order, Falling In Love, Sansa is born first at Riverrun, but i tried, im not really good at writing romance tbh, still ain't that great at titles either
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:35:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25105576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansakatara/pseuds/sansakatara
Summary: AU.  Instead of Robb, Sansa is born first at Riverrun during Robert's Rebellion.
Relationships: Arya Stark and Catelyn Stark, Brandon Stark/Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark, Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark
Comments: 3
Kudos: 37





	Born of Riverrun, Born of Winterfell

**Author's Note:**

> AU: Instead of Robb, Sansa is born first at Riverrun.

Sansa is two. Old enough to understand that her mother is carrying a babe inside her, judging by the way she points her chubby finger at her stomach and says “baby!”; but not old enough to grasp what this could mean for her. That if Lady Catelyn’s prayers to the Mother are answered and she gives birth to a son, Sansa will no longer be her father’s heir just as she was no longer her father’s when Edmure was born. Once Catelyn pondered about the North adopting the Dornish custom where inheritance works differently, where a daughter can inherit her father’s seat just by the virtue of coming first into the world. Catelyn looks at Sansa and for a moment does not see the little girl that clings shyly to her skirts, but her as the Lady of Winterfell. But that would only pass if Catelyn produced no sons for her lord husband. 

Without them, it makes the shame of Ned’s bastard even greater.

Catelyn remembers arriving at Winterfell, Sansa a few months old. Catelyn had given birth to her at her father’s castle. Her uncle Brynden had wept the first time he had held her. She had never seen her uncle cry before. Brynden told her that his ‘Little Cat’s’ ‘Mini-Cat’ was perfect, and Catelyn savoured his words; for she was, she absolutely was and for that moment it had been the three of them cocooned together in that small perfect world. In that small perfect world, Catelyn did not have to worry about whenever she would be made a widow if the man she married died before she knew him, or if the Crown prevailed and her entire House was put to a traitor’s death like that of House Darklyn, or if- if they prevailed, and her husband lived- would he disappointed that she had given him a daughter instead of a son? He had seemed so solemn and guarded at their wedding feast. But no wonder- the brother that Catelyn had been meant to marry was dead, along with their lord father. Butchered by the Mad King, and the Crown Prince had disappeared with his sister and Robert Baratheon’s betrothed. He had taken her maidenhead that night, and it had been coloured by duty more than anything. But his seed had quickened, and her stomach had soon swelled. Catelyn and her party had been met with an honor guard on the Kingsroad to escort them to Winterfell. Catelyn had learnt from one of them that Lord Stark had learnt of his daughter’s birth, but nothing was said of his feelings. It had not been until they were reunited again, and she had seen him with Sansa. She had introduced him to his daughter, and had shown him the proper way to hold Sansa. 

“She is precious, my lady.” Ned had whispered. There was no trace of disappointment in his voice, and Catelyn had felt a great weight come off her shoulders.  
Sansa had been taken then by Old Nan, a smiling, wrinkling old prune of a woman. Ned had needed to talk to Cat alone. He had been fidgeting, and his eyes were downcast. In that moment, he looked more like a vulnerable youth than a man who had tasted battle and had seen his friend crowned. Softly, he had said that he had ‘dishonoured’ their wedding vows, but that had not been the words that had caused Catelyn’s stomach to drop. 

Most men did not keep to one bed, she knew. Her septa had taught her that, and had warned her that bastards were often born of these tumblings. Catelyn had always understood that, and she did not fault Ned for finding some comfort during the war.  
But most men did not bring their bastards home either.  
“What of his mother?” She asked, her voice even.  
Ned had met her eyes then. “She will not trouble us, my lady.”  
“And how will I know that?” Catelyn asked perhaps too sharply, but she had not cared. She was the Lady of Winterfell, a life she had been destined for since the age of twelve. She had a right to know. What if this woman tried whispering in her child’s ears?  
“Because she – she is dead.” 

He loves her, Catelyn realizes, with a jolt. Feasibly, that was just as dangerous – could the love he had for this woman’s ghost move him to raise her son to rights that were not his?  
Because of this woman, would he ever come to love her?  
For a time, she was not certain. He was attentive and kind- giving her the warmest bedchambers, ensuring that her lady maids treated her with the upmost respect. He had even begun the construction of a sept, so she would have the comfort of her gods. But there was still a distance between them, and Catelyn wonders how she can break it. In the meantime, she did her best to endeavour herself to the people of Winterfell, and it soon worked well- for there was no whisperings of her southerners. Sansa undoubtedly helped- she had delighted and charmed the castle folk; her nurse was half in love with her – saying she was “the sweetest little thing I’ve had looking after, m’lady”.  
A kind husband is something that many women will never know. She consoled herself with that. Ned was kind to her, and a good father to Sansa, by the way he took every opportunity to hold her, and listened attentively to her nurse about her progress. A kind husband and a loving father is more than enough. 

It does not happen all at once, but bit by bit. The first begins when he asks her shyly to wear her hair one day, gingerly brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. When she tells him stories of herself as a girl at Riverrun, making mudpies with her sister – he breaks into a laugh and says that he hopes she will not except him to eat any. In turn, he begins opening up about his time in the Eyrie; of how Robert was perhaps a brother to him in the way Brandon and Benjen were not. That sometimes he worries that when people look at him, they see Brandon instead. She sees that he is wrong- observing the way he interacts with his people; offering a place at his table for one of his household. Vayon Poole, Winterfell’s steward who has a little girl Sansa’s age. Rodrik Cassel, master-of-arms and who had already been a man grown when Ned was born. Old Nan, with her stories. Just like their wedding night, their coupling had been shy, awkward fumblings. Soon, as they get to know each other better- they become familiar with each other bodies as well. After one of these passionate embraces, they laid together arms and legs twined together. Catelyn could feel the fierce thudding of Ned’s heart as she laid her head against his chest, and in that moment, there was no other place she’d rather be. It does not happen all at once, but she eventually finds the sweet heart shielded by his solemnity. 

It is after one of these couplings that Catelyn soon misses her moonblood. When she feels the familiar sickness, Maester Luwin soon confirms her suspicions. When she tells Ned, she is with child again, Ned’s face glows as he takes her into his arms. As he holds her, Catelyn makes a silent promise to herself that she will give him a son. 

Years later, she will wonder why nobody realized it before then. She goes into labour in the middle of the night, and just before the dawn breaks – Maester Luwin lifts her babe in the air. Red-faced and kicking, and undeniably a boy. Catelyn’s arms ached to hold him- but Maester Luwin’s eyes had gone wide when he had looked between her legs and realized there was another head crowing. Catelyn didn’t have the time to process anything as Maester Luwin urges her to push again. In minutes, she gives birth again. This time, to a girl. Smaller than her twin, but her screams rivalled his.  
Later, Ned comes to meet his new son and daughter, carrying Sansa in his arms. Sansa is wide-eyed as she stares in fascination at the sleeping babes, her thumb cradled in her mouth; a habit that Catelyn needs to break. 

After holding their son, Ned takes their daughter into his arms. Sansa is nestled beside Catelyn on the bed, and laughs in delight when the babe clutches her finger.  
“What do you think of Brandon, my lord?” Catelyn asks. Perhaps I can ease his guilt about taking his brother’s place by naming our son in his honour.  
Ned takes her hand and kisses it. “Brandon.” He repeats, the words solemn as an oath. He says it the same way that she has come to notice he says Sansa’s – he speaks it with careful tenderness.  
Ned presses his lips to their daughter’s forehead before placing her in the crook of Catelyn’s left arm. “And what of this one?” Ned asks, as Catelyn holds both her son and daughter.  
Catelyn thinks for a moment. “Arya”. The moment she says it, she cannot imagine any other name. By the way Ned smiles- he agrees.  
“It’s perfect. They’re perfect. You’re perfect.” Ned kisses her fiercely, and Catelyn feels a fire ignite within her at the quiet intensity of his words. “I still cannot believe that nobody realized you were carrying twins. It truly is surprising.”  
Catelyn smiles at Arya. Sansa has switched her attention to Arya now, and presses little kisses against her cheek, soft and swift as the fluttering of a butterfly’s wings.  
“I have a feeling she will continue to surprise us, my lord.”


End file.
